


Hush

by SantaMalgastadora



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SantaMalgastadora/pseuds/SantaMalgastadora
Summary: Asra is asleep after another long, difficult day, and he's dreaming. And the dream is deep like a well and heavy as if he had stones stuffed into his pockets. He's trapped within it, stripped of his wits, forced to go through the nightmare over and over again, always wondering why he isn't bleeding… Because it hurts so much he should be...
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Hush

Asra is asleep after another long, difficult day, and he's dreaming. And the dream is deep like a well, claustrophobic as one, and heavy as if he had stones bound to his wrists and ankles, and stuffed into his pockets, keeping him there, in the darkness and thick air, thick like smoke, making breathing a luxury he can hardly afford. He's trapped within it and unable to realise that - he's stripped of his wits, of memories; his head is held down by an iron grip of his fears, ice-cold around his throat as he's forced to go through the nightmare over and over again, always wondering why he isn't bleeding… Because it hurts so much he should be...

...because he's alone. Alone and cold, with no one to help him, to console or hold him. He lives in the shop, which isn't even his, like a burglar, like a thief, feeling like one. But he stays there, repeating to himself that it's for you, to keep it until you're back.

But will you be back?

Will this gaping hole which appeared after you passed away ever refill? How? When?

And why...?

Why did you get sick? Why did you stay, love? Why didn't you go with him?  _ Why the hell did he leave you alone?! _ Why was he such an idiot? Why was he angry and petty and selfish? Why didn't he stay? He'd rather die with you a hundred times than go through this nightmare...

...over and over again…

...and he's got Ilya. He's got him at his mercy, at his feet, desperate, vulnerable and open, willing to take anything for a lousiest shred of hope that Asra might love him. But Asra can't. Gods know he tries, but he can't. Ilya is needy, starved for attention and affection Asra can't give him - because he is starved for those just as much. He's in grief, but Asra is too, ten times more than him; and there is blood and ashes on his hands, so how could he wipe his tears away with them?

And Ilya craves forgiveness, but who is Asra to forgive when he himself is guilty, guilty,  _ guilty _ !

And this hurts, too - hurts over and over again - to deny Ilya, to push him away, to hurt him when he comes for comfort. It's evil, and Asra is disgusted with himself to the point he spends whole nights crying and wailing until he's sick...

...alone, so terrifyingly alone, again and again, your last words to him ringing in his ears...

_ Fine! I don't need you! Run, you coward! Run already and don't you look back! _

...they ring louder, louder, reverberating through his very bones, shaking him, stinging like hundreds of needles…

_ I don't need you! I don't want you! _

...and even when he begs  _ I'm sorry! I'm sorry! _ , they only grew louder, deafening, the blade dipped in his heart twisting...

Asra screams weakly in his sleep, stirs as the pain reaches its breaking point, until he can't take more, until he can't breathe. He chokes and breaks free from the nightmare, jumping up, panting, shaking, his eyes shooting open, darting around the dark room, the bed...

The empty bed.

Empty.

The realisation is a sucker punch, makes him fall to his elbows and moan.

You really are gone. And he is all alone.

Panic takes over him. His breath grows frantic, loud, chest heaving faster, faster until he's suffocating, whimpering, pulling on his hair viciously hard, just to feel anything, anything else but the pain splitting his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs, tearing apart his very soul. Because it was a lie, those were all lies! His struggles, the bargain, his heart ripped in half for you, everything he's done for you - a dream! The relief of having you back in his arms, his life, your beautiful face, your eyes looking back at him - lies, lies, lies!

"Asra...?"

Your voice, soft and small, makes his breath hitch. His vision is blurry, and he wipes the flowing tears away, quickly, hard, just to see, to make sure. Is it you? He wishes so, but he doubts, he doesn't know anything anymore. He just wants this shape in the dark, in his long shirt you always liked to sleep in to be real, to truly stand there, in the entryway.

The silhouette bends down, there is a thud of a full glass put on the floor, then soft steps of bare feet.

"Hush, Asra. Hush, my heart."

Asra chokes on a sob because it is your voice, your whisper filled with concern, calling him by his name, which he retaught you to pronounce, because you forgot; calling him  _ heart _ like he's called you a thousand times since you came back to life, every time you're screaming and crying in pain like he is now.

And suddenly, you are right beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight because you really are there. Suddenly, your arms are around him, pulling him close, cuddling his trembling body to your chest, where your precious heart hammers like his is, in fear for him, in compassion, in love.

"Hush, my heart, shhh, shhh…" you coo like he does when you are suffering, your hands rubbing his back, your fingers running gently through his hair. "It's alright. I'm here. I've got you. It's going to be alright, I promise," you whisper the exact words he whispers to you to soothe you, your breath warm on his forehead, your lips soft as they kiss his cheek.

And he believes you and relaxes into you at once, all the fear and doubt melting like ice before the sweet warmth of your affection. Because it was just a dream. He's not alone. He's got you, you've got him, and he's warm and held and loved. He's at home, right there with you, and it's going to be alright. 

(He'll tell you later that you don't put glasses on the floor.)


End file.
